


As Adam, Early In The Morning

by convolutedConcussion



Series: Everything is Whitman and Nothing Hurts [3]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: And He Knows It, Author Cannot Write, Charles Is Self-Conscious, Erik Is Hot Shit, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>As Adam, early in the morning,<br/>Walking forth from the bower, refresh'd with sleep;<br/>Behold me where I pass--hear my voice--approach,<br/>Touch me--touch the palm of your hand to my Body as I pass;<br/>Be not afraid of my Body. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Adam, Early In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lanasauli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanasauli/gifts).



Rolling in bed, Charles feels the smallest twinge of regret at finding himself alone in the bed. As a fisherman with his line, he casts out a searching tendril. It brushes against Erik's consciousness but goes no deeper and he relaxes into the bed, burying his face into the pillows with something very close to embarassment. He goes over what happened the night before with something very like scientific curiosity, from casual drinks in a filthy bar to a hurried, panting session in an alleyway to something much _less_ impersonal within the confines of their hotel room (or, rather, less impersonal for Charles and he could only _hope_ that it was viewed with the same sort of feelings by the other). It's all a little surreal and he could almost believe it hadn't happened if it weren't for the blankets twisted around his naked waist or the overwhelming scent of _him_ all around him (or the deep, intimate soreness), that it had all been a very realistic fantasy. Interrupting such thoughts, the bathroom door swings open and shuts gently and Charles listens to Erik's nearly silent footsteps as he approaches the bed. When he senses he is very close, the telepath rolls onto his side and isn't quite prepared for what he sees.

The man stands tall, unselfconscious, and naked as a babe and Charles finds himself _staring_. Staring, because he's beautiful, all graceful movements and lithe limbs, all hard muscle and sharp bone. There's a moment in which all Charles can think, such a ridiculous thought, that he might as well be Adam, might as well be the first man, the image of God, perfect in every way, and that he has no right to touch something so lovely. He finds himself feeling very conscious of his own imperfection, of the indefinition of his muscles and softness of the lines of his figure. There's a smirk playing on Erik's lips and Charles doesn't have to be a mind-reader to know that the other _knows_ just how attractive he is. The latter hikes the blankets up over his shoulders, flushing but unable to look away from those broad shoulders, that sculpted stomach, narrow hips and half-hard cock.

Wetting his lips with a flick of his tongue, Charles pulls back in a silent offering of space for the other to lie down and receives from him a playback image of himself licking his lips coloured with shades of desire. He huffs something between a laugh and a sigh, flushing hotly, and avoids Erik's intense gaze as he takes his place next to Charles. They're close but not touching and Erik tucks his arms behind his head, looking at the other with heavy-lidded eyes in something very close to challenge. Charles realizes slowly that there's something else to him that he hadn't noticed right off--he looks refreshed, not tired or angry or tense, but like a man who has finally, _finally_ gotten the rest he needs. (But perhaps Charles is just flattering himself here--perhaps he is giving himself a sense of grandeur that isn't all that warranted.) On a whim, he reaches out to touch him, to lay a hand flat on his chest to feel his heart's steady beat, but stops barely an inch above his bare flesh, irrationally frightened to lay his hands on such a man.

Erik lurches forward, looking intrigued as Charles' hand maintains its distance even as he moves, until their lips are barely a breath apart. Stony eyes search blue for an agonizing moment before Erik closes the distance between them, kissing Charles hard and pushing him back into the mattress. His fear--apprehension, anxiety, what is the word he wants?--disappears then.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that, strictly speaking, I don't know the person to whom I've dedicated this but I feel like, as both of us are fans of Whitman, it's okay to do this. Besides, I get the need for happyfics, especially in this fandom.
> 
> Anyway, this was inspired by As Adam, Early In The Morning by Walt Whitman. 
> 
> Y'all should know that I only rated it M because of the penis. It seemed iffy to me and I dunno.
> 
> I worry about these things.


End file.
